What Lurks Beneath
by LolitaRaven
Summary: A Jim Keats one shot. What made Jim the way he is? And what happened after the others left?


"Where did I go wrong?" DCI Jim Keats thinks to himself, in a rare moment of clarity. Yes he was a tad anal about punctuality and tidiness, but surely that didn't mean he deserved this fate? He tugs at his tie, which suddenly fells uncomfortable around his neck whilst recalling the life he left behind. His mind often drifts back to that day; the day that altered him forever.

_The 31__st__ March 1953 was a glorious day, and Jim awoke to an alarm of birdsong and light streaming through a chink in the navy curtains. He groped for his glasses on the nightstand by his single bed, one of the few defining features in an otherwise sparsely furnished room. Once downstairs he looked at the empty mat by the front door, unsurprised but still slightly hurt that no one had remembered what that day was. He could never have claimed to be a popular man, more a solitary figure albeit by the choice others, but he still felt his heart sink when the only card he received was from his mother. "Some 30__th__ birthday" he thought to himself bitterly "No friends, no girlfriend, nothing..." Ascending the staircase again Jim went to put on his preferred attire, a crisp white shirt, suit, tie and his long grey coat. He was still in a foul mood, perhaps if he hadn't then he would have heard them coming. Three men, dressed in dark clothing, congregated in his doorway. They were there to give the pencil necked DCI a birthday gift, but something quite unwanted. After pushing it through the letter box they ran away, leaving the brooding DCI to get dressed. Before Jim knew it the dark smoke rendered him unconscious; shortly followed by the lick of flames, starting at his feet, moving upwards until the DCI had been totally engulfed. March 31__st__ was Jim Keats' 30__th__ birthday... it was also the day his life ended. How funny that a single match and a splash of petrol could cause so much detestation._

_Jim's head was groggy, as if he had a terrible hangover, although he would never drink copious amounts if he had work the following day. With a start he had realised that he was walking. He tried to stop his limbs, commanding them to cease, all to no avail. That was the first time he heard it, maniacal laughter followed by his own voice echoing inside his head "Oh Jimbo, you have no idea." From that point on Jim had to submit to the will of the thing inside him, tempting others into the depths of hell. He wasn't a bad guy, honestly, but the pent up rage had manifested itself and Jim could do nothing but follow its wishes. One by one they fell by the wayside, most following him to the unknown fate he was sure they didn't deserve. Some, however, had the strength to fight; evading his grasp like the sunlight through his curtains on the day that changed his life. And those days he was punished. Torture beyond most people's imaginations, yet all in his mind. The mental scars piled up, but never once did he have a mark on his lank body. _

Jim takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes, a habit he's become accustomed to recently. His thought is broken by the crash of his "office" door. "Oi Jimbo" Jim doesn't reply, reeling at the "pet name" that torments him in his own psyche. "I'm talking to you pencil neck!" the unmistakable voice of Gene Hunt barks. "New DI up here thought you'd like to see her before I break those stupid glasses of yours." With that Gene slams the door leaving Jim to compose himself. _"Fresh meat" _the voice giggles as Jim gets up from his desk with the manner of a man twice his age. He's tired of the games, sick of still being the least popular man in the room- always second best to Gene. He heads up to CID ready to resign himself to his fate. He leans his head against the cool double doors, trying to find the strength for the task ahead. He inhales deeply before opening the doors, to stride in toe to toe against Gene once again.

Half way across the room he stops dead. He must be imagining things, he frowns at the sight before him before Gene quips "This is called a woman, Jimbo. I know its uncharted territory for you" which causes a few jeers amongst the rest of the clowns in Gene's control. Jim recovers himself "Really Gene? I didn't think you'd know one unless you were shooting her or making her get you tea" he sneers, knowing that the jibes about Shaz and Alex will hurt him most. Gene closes the distance between them in a few strides. Although shorter, Gene still has a menacing presence. "You listen here you great nonce, I'm King of this castle and no snotty, brown-nosing arse will take that away from me." Jim leaves the tension to hang in the air for a few seconds before pushing Gene back ever so slightly. "Now now Gene, not in front of the lady." He finds the words slipping out of his mouth, the wit and charisma he wishes he has being harnessed by the energy inside him. He's going in for the kill, and this one will be his, one way or another.

Jim turns his attention back to the new DI. "I'm DCI Jim Keats" he croaks, to much stifled laughter in the background, but he doesn't care. She's here. But he can't decide whether to be pleased or remorseful that she's ended up in Fenchurch East. She extends her hand "I know" she replies. Maybe he can finally control his own destiny, without the push and pull of others. "I'll see you soon Taylor" He smirks whilst turning on his heel. "But Guv, she didn't tell him her name" a thick London accent pipes up. Jim smiles when he hears an almighty crack, suggesting Gene has either slapped the table, or more likely, the unsuspecting moron who made the comment. He can almost hear her thinking "How is he here?" He knows he won't have to do any chasing. And sure enough she comes to him.

A sharp knock at his door distracts Jim from his paperwork. "Come in" he calls, already guessing that she would be there. She steps in his office looking flustered. Her eyes focus on him and she throws herself into his arms before he can even react. "I've missed you so much Jim" she says, holding him close to her. "I can't do it." He thinks to himself, holding her fragile body in his arms. _"Oh but you will Jimbo, you will"_ the voice quips, making bile rise in his throat. How can be betray a woman he loves? But try as he might, he submerges into the cold abyss where he's nothing more than an observer of the actions his own body is taking.

Weeks have passed, but Jim feels like it's been days. He knows it will all be over soon, he has her complete trust. He feels sick to his stomach that she will know how he's betrayed her, but he prays that somehow she can see the man deep inside who's chained up by the monster wearing his skin. "You're wasted here" he feels himself say. "I'm setting up my own team" he whispers, leaning closer to her ear. "This is wrong" he thinks, despite knowing it won't change this _thing's_ mind. "Really" she replies looking excited at the prospect. "Yeah. You'd be perfect. I might even promote you to DCI" he winks, his body still acting of his own accord. "But you can't..." she starts before Jim 'shhhs' her. "Of course I can" he smiles. "The paperwork is in the basement, come with me now and we can get it sorted." She glances backwards but accompanies him. "This lift is a bit" Jim pauses "odd, so hold tight" He smiles as she steps in. The doors close and she makes her descent.

Sat back in his office Jim gulps his glass of whiskey. He was never a big drinker, but today he needs it. _"You did it Jimbo. How did it feel? Betraying someone so close to you?" _Jim throws the whiskey bottle at the wall, which smashes with a satisfying pop. _"Now you know we're in this together Jimbo. Forever." _The voice cackles and fades. They really are now. There can be no redemption for Jim. She was his last hope, yet he still couldn't fight it. Maybe he does deserve this after all. Jim takes the dusty photo out of his wallet, silent tears falling from his face. She smiles up at him, with her big hazel eyes. She's holding her son; they look so similar it almost makes Jim choke. Yes, he does deserve this. A better person would have fought harder. A better person wouldn't have cast his sister into the depths of Hell.


End file.
